


A Long Loneliness

by puckity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, OT3, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckity/pseuds/puckity
Summary: For Steve, it always started the same.





	A Long Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goandgetthegunarchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandgetthegunarchive/gifts).



> Here's how this happened:
> 
>  **1.** _Infinity War_ killed me dead.  
>  **2.** The incomprehensibly talented [goandgetthegun](http://goandgetthegun.tumblr.com/) decided to draw some soft OT3 feels for our best boys.  
>  **3.** While discussing my inability to write pure fluff when prompted with it, we started challenging each other with more and more painful headcanons.  
>  **4.** The winner was: _What if the fluff is only in Steve's post-IW fleeting dreams?_  
>  **5.** In my grief and pain, this piece was wrought and is subsequently dedicated to her.
> 
> [ **Art**](https://puckity.tumblr.com/post/175344046403/a-long-loneliness-ao3-stevesambucky) by the phenomenon known as [goandgetthegun](http://goandgetthegun.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Beta'd by the long-suffering [Rachel](http://betterwithsparkles.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can also follow me on [Tumblr](http://puckity.tumblr.com/), if you'd like!

It always started the same: with two fingers of whatever was left in the Asgardian liquor bottles that Thor had gifted the team—back when there was a team—and one of those Hulk-duty tranquilizer pills that Fury said were still in the testing phases when S.H.I.E.L.D. sank with smoldering chunks of concrete and steel into the Potomac.

Just a little trick for the super soldier who couldn’t sleep without walking through Wakandan fields irrigated with blood, couldn’t close his eyes without hearing the vicious whirl of the Q-ships right before half the universe went silent.

So it started the same, with lead-heavy eyelids and a scrub like cotton on his dry tongue and Steve would drift off with an old asthma wheeze. With a pressure—like three dozen fists closing around his lungs—that he never could shake, a rattle that he never could cough out. The breathing that he couldn’t slow all the way back to normal; not even after the serum pumped all the sick out of him.

“Steve?” Bucky would whisper, close like a fight. Like a dare, like two Brooklyn boys with over-patched trousers and one good mattress between them.

“Steve.” Sam would echo, firm and sure like wings against the clear sky. He’d reach out with a smile and it would turn into a smirk between the three of them.

“It’s been a long time.” Bucky’s arm around his waist, fingertips too soft to be anything but a tickle. Just like the old days, except that now the scruff of his beard itched at the nape of Steve’s neck.

“Not for me it hasn’t.” Sam’s palm running up Steve’s forearms, over his biceps, across his shoulders to rub in the grooves beneath his collarbone. “Right, Cap?”

Steve would stutter; the fists would squeeze.

“And not for you either, old man.” Sam pressing one hand wide over Steve’s heart and winding the other behind him to touch Bucky’s face or brush back his hair or maybe flick at his ear.

Steve didn’t know, couldn’t see, wouldn’t move even if someone had the muzzle of a sonic cannon singed against his scalp.

“You two are always for the drama, huh?” Sam leaning in, lips light on Steve’s cheek. “I still can’t figure out how I landed _two_ geriatric boyfriends.”

“ _Super_ geriatric boyfriends, smartass.” Bucky’s teeth trailing bites along the ridge of Steve’s back, huffing laughter against his skin. “It’s an important distinction.”

“It is.” And Steve talking, finally—words punched out of him by the press and heat of two bodies, two mouths, two men who bookend him and keep him filed in the right sections of his life. “And did we decide on ‘boyfriends’?”

“You wanted to.” Bucky’s fingers stretching over Steve’s stomach, following the coarse patch of hair down.

Steve arching back until he can feel Bucky, hard and hot, slide against him. “But I never told you…”

“We made an executive decision.” Sam’s hand following Bucky, drawing a thick line down Steve’s chest. Catching Bucky by the wrist and pulling him away from Steve, leading him to the cut of his own hip.

Bucky taking the hint, wrapping his hand around Sam and rolling rough and sharp.

Sam moving gentler with Steve, tight but smooth and Sam’s dry hands should burn but they don’t and Steve knew somewhere he knew if he just tried to move tried to break free but he didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t—

Steve’s lungs twisting under his ribs and they would be squirming up his throat and out but: Sam kissing him. Slow and sweet at first but then Steve rocking between them—up into Sam’s fist and back against Bucky’s cock—and everything ticks up.

Sam kissing him sloppy and Steve meeting him frantic like they’re running down a clock. Bucky’s nails cutting into his shoulder blades, his tongue licking at the welts and they’re all panting wet and choking moans out of each other and it’s a race, a countdown, and Steve _wants_ until he doesn’t, until he’s flailing and thrashing but they have him and they would not…they won’t…

Not letting him go.

Steve coming like a strangle, like every joint is vice-locked and it’s wrenched out of him. Steve holding on, clawing at all the skin he can find because he would crumble without them. He’d shatter down like brittle bones and chronic pain and there wouldn’t be a deep, cold sleep to hide in this time.

This time, he’d—

“Steve?” Bucky whispers, far off and hazy and he’s not ready.

“Steve.” Sam’s voice flutters, trembles and he would never be ready.

And it always ended the same: with Steve blinking up at the too-bright world—cheeks wet and boxer briefs sticky—still reaching for the sifts of dust long after they’ve fallen through his fingers.


End file.
